


Rouge

by siddals



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 19:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13394988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siddals/pseuds/siddals
Summary: Daniel comes to see Charlotte.





	Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "rouge" on tumblr.

Charlotte almost doesn’t hear his knock. The noise of the theater, of shouting actors and cheering crowds, all but drowns him out.

She hadn’t expected him to come. It is not that she doubts him or thinks him indifferent, but Daniel has duties of his own. His new stallion is said to be the fastest horse England has ever seen and there are bets to gain, men to flatter and convince, deals made over games of faro and glasses of port. These days, they have less time for each other. It is curious to think that she misses him, him, the man most in her company these last ten years, but sometimes, she does.

She is still covered in paint, a thicker layer of white than she ever wore off a stage, the skirts of her dress so wide she can scarcely move. If she was false before, the stage might bring her to caricature, her face and manners so thickly painted they wouldn’t convince any fool. Here, the point is not to convince, only to put on an amusing facade.

He comes to stand behind her where she sits at her vanity and places his hands on her shoulders. She watches him in the mirror, his handsome face gleaming in the low light.

“You hear that?” Daniel tilts his head in the direction of the shouts and cheers. “They love you.”

“And tomorrow the papers will print that I’m too old for Millamant,” she says, “that I had better move on to Lady Wishfort. And half those cheering will laugh and say they’re too right.”

“Then they’re fools,” he says, “You were, no doubt, the best Millamant ever on that stage.”

“How much did you see?”

“All of it. I was in a box, did you not see me?”

She turns, surprised.

“You should have told me.”

He bends to kiss her. His lips are soft, familiar against hers and she keeps hold of him as long as she can. (This is  _safe_ , her hand circled round the back of his neck, her fingers curled into his hair.)

When he pulls away, she laughs. He’s stained white and red, her stage-paint smeared across his face. Charlotte gestures towards the mirror, beckoning him to look.

When he sees himself, he laughs.

“Could be done with more art,” she says, “and a little more rouge, but you’re prettier than you’ve ever been.”

He chuckles.

“Think I could pass for an English macaroni yet?”

“Oh yes,” she says, “a true dandy boy.”

He kisses her again, harder this time, hungrier.

“I can’t be too long,” she says softly, “Abraham Mendez expects me tonight.”

Daniel pauses for a moment. Then he nods.

There are still men. She can afford greater choice now, her theater wages providing a wider space between her and a need for worry. But there will always be men, at least until they no longer want her. Abraham Mendez is far from the worst she has known, and unlike Lord Repton or George Howard, he knows something of the world’s scorn himself.

Sometimes in the mornings, once she has left some house or other, she slips back to their home to find Daniel in bed. She likes his look when he sees her, his smile sleepy and surprised, even after these years.

Perhaps that will be tomorrow.

“I can stay a little longer,” she says.


End file.
